Blotted Out
by Cartel
Summary: Theodore Nott finds himself confronted by Professor Trelawney, who wants to know why his dream journals are all made up... and why his readings of tea leaves are so consistently accurate. As he explains himself, the reasoning for his social isolation comes to light, and the condition of a classmate is brought into question. / Eventual TN/HG.
1. Chapter 1

**Blotted Out**

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended._

"Mr. Nott, please stay after class." Professor Trelawney's voice was as airy as ever, but for once it silenced the class. The students, self-segregated Ravenclaws and Slytherins sitting on opposite sides of the room, all turned to look at their dark haired classmate. His face was disappointingly blank, and they turned back to going over their dream journals.

Theodore Nott himself was partnered with Daphne Greengrass, possibly the one of the worst matched pairings Professor Trelawney had ever had to assign. Greengrass's assignments were always heavily influenced by whatever last week's lesson had been. As soon as Trelawney gave a lecture on an omen, Greengrass spotted one prancing about the lake. Nott was something else entirely.

Once the other students had clamoured out, Trelawney was alone with Nott, who had hung back in his seat.

"What's the matter, professor?" With a clattering of beads, she turned toward him and landed in the seat opposite.

"You are wasting your gift, my dear," she explained.

The boy frowned. "I haven't received any presents recently, professor."

"No, no your _gift_." She raised a hand to her forehead, and closed her eyes before explaining, some level of mystique dropping from her voice. "Mr. Nott, I can't help but notice that while your dream journal is intentionally _creative_, your readings of the leaves have always been precise, accurate, and effortless. Not to mention your mastery of the unit on tarot cards would be considered impressive in a wizard at least twice your age. You cannot hide your gift from me, dear child. We seers have a way of finding one another."

When she'd opened her eyes again, she saw that the boy was attempting to look through the table at the floor. She waited patiently until he replied.

"I'm not a seer. I just..."

"You just see things?" she tried, but he shook his head at once, looking back up at her again.

"No, I don't. I sort of feel them. It's like I've already read something about it, except I've never thought of it before. It's like events are familiar, except I don't remember where I know them from, I just sort of-sort of know things, in the moment. Usually it's things about people."

"What kind of things?"

"Dark things. Mostly." The professor looked alarmed and the boy quickly elaborated. "Not... Not dark-dark. But, things that happen to them, things that they think are dark. Feelings they have. Like, like it doesn't matter much to you or me, what our hair colour is, right? But when I sit across from Daphne, I just, I get this _feeling_, just this notion that she wishes she were blond. Her sister is blond and I think she wishes she were more like her sister. Or, or Blaise Zabini's mother... Dark things about his mother, I know those, too."

The boy was torn between being alarmed by the light in his teacher's eyes and the relief of finally explaining his condition to someone properly. She seemed to be intent on hearing more, so he continued.

"It makes it hard, being with other people. I know them all so well, so quickly, but they don't know me at all. And I can't-I can't talk to them, or I know I'll slip up and say something that won't make sense, or they'll think I'm spying, or something."

"That must be very hard for you." Her voice was almost devoid of any mistiness, but he hardly noticed.

"Well, it's worse for them. I mean I-I can see what's broken with people. I want to fix it, but I can't, because I'm not supposed to _know_. I don't know how to help these people. And it would be so easy, so easy to hurt them with this information. Sometimes I think it would be better if I just died." Trelawney looked startled, so the student leaned in, now seeming to have realized he'd said something he shouldn't have. "Don't... Don't mention this, to anyone, but my father, he's in with a bad lot. We don't really talk, at all, but if he... If he figured out, you know, how my mind works, he'd hand me over to them. They're going to ask me Harry Potter's secrets, or something."

The woman strummed her hands on the desks, a faint jiggling arising from the numerous rings lining her fingers. "Harry Potter concerns me, too. He's going to die young, I can feel that much. Do you-do you know what's going to happen to him?"

Theodore shook his head and was silent, before a slight blush arose in his cheeks. "That's another problem, professor. I-I don't want to be anyone's weapon. So I try hard not to focus on Potter at all, I just go for the people nearby him. And... Well, Weasley, he's the youngest boy of so many, his life is rather obvious. Granger, though, I keep getting lost in her past and future. But there are strange parts that- I don't know if someone is blocking me, I know Snape has some sort of wall up, but Granger..." Trelawney nodded for him to continue, though she pursed her lips at the name. "I sometimes get, notions I guess, with parts missing. It's like parts of her future are blotted out. It's not like that with anyone else, it's really concerning."

Trelawney strummed her hands again and asked, "Well, she does have a particular lack of intuition. It's possible that her blocking off of her inner eye has closed something off to you?" The boy nodded but she could almost tell he didn't agree. She sniffed and tried again. "Why are you concerned? A gifted boy like yourself, concerned about someone as stubborn as Ms. Granger."

The dark haired boy drew his chair back and swung his back over his shoulder. "She's not stubborn, professor, she's determined." Trelawney half expected him to storm down the ladder, as he there was a startling and sudden edge in his voice, but he paused next to where she sat and seemed to compose himself.

"Thank you, Professor Trelawney. I appreciate that you wanted to talk to me. I'll try harder with the dream journals. Do have a nice day."

She watched, still seated, as the boy made his way down the ladder. As he was about to be far enough down that the floor obscured him, they made eye contact, and he added softly, "You know, plenty of us take you seriously. You shouldn't worry about it so much."

**x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Blotted Out**

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended._

"Well, there's _got _to be someone," Pansy Parkinson stressed, brown eyes narrowed over the latest edition of Witch Weekly. The title cover read: Soulmates-_What Does Your Wand-Wood Say About You? _Smaller captions scrolled beneath it, blinking on and off every few seconds. _Yew Are In Luck!_ and Is _Poplar Unpopular? Details Inside!_

Sitting on the emerald couch across from her, Daphne Greengrass huffed. "How should I know what types of wands people have? I hardly talk to anyone who isn't in Slytherin."

"Well, there has to be someone _in_ _Slytherin_, then," Pansy replied. "We figured everyone else out, there's got to be a match for Blaise."

"Somehow, I think I'll live," Blaise Zabini interjected sarcastically from where he lay, resting on the rug by the fire. He was ignored.

"We're looking for someone with Silver Lime, right? Since he's Spruce? Who even has that? I didn't know it was a thing."

"Of course it's a thing Daphne. Honestly, it's right _here_."

Daphne scanned the room for likely culprits. Goyle was Red Oak, Millicent was whatever had paired her with Ernie MacMillan, who everyone knew had Pear...  
She noticed a thin, dark-haired boy sitting with his chin to his knees and a book in his hands perched on an armchair in the corner. Smiling, she decided to relay this discovery to her friend.

"We haven't figured Theodore yet, right? What wand's he got, dýou figure?"

"Ooh, ask him," Pansy urged.

Daphne prepared to do so, but Pansy slid off of her chair and strode in front of her toward the boy.

"Theodore?" Pansy's voice was sweet in the sense that cheap, mass-produced Cherry Ale is sweet.

He looked up from his book. His eyes met Pansy's, and Daphne took a step back

"Yes?"

"What kind of wood is your wand made of?"

Looking from one girl to the other, he seemed to pause. Daphne wondered if this meant he was lying, or if his answer was just too juicy to give out freely. She mentally prepared her best persuasive argument in favor of sharing the information, and was a little disappointed when it didn't seem to be needed.

"Silver Lime. Why?"

Daphne and Pansy gasped, immediately turning to make eye contact. Then, Daphne turned very seriously to Theodore and said, "You and Blaise are soulmates."

The darkhaired boy raised his eyebrows a second too late, as if the information didn't really surprise him. Daphne wondered giddily if this meant he'd been in love with Blaise all along.

"You're sure of this? Just based off my wand?"

Daphne faltered. "Well, he's the most likely to be out of everyone here, I mean."

Pansy shot a glare at Daphne, then turned with a small smile to the boy in front of them.

"Silver Lime goes best with Spruce and Vine. Blaise has got Spruce, and besides, his horoscope said he'd find love with dark hair," Pansy gestured to her magazine as evidence.

"You have dark hair," Theodore pointed out.

Pansy rolled her eyes and Daphne, seeing this, did the same. "_I'm_ best suited for Draco, obviously."

"Alright, then." Apparently content with this, the boy lifted his book to read again.

"You should kiss Blaise to be sure," Daphne blurted out, to which Pansy nodded.

"You should," she agreed.

From somewhere behind them on the rug, the Slytherin in question called out, "As if I'm getting up."

"He'll come to you," Pansy called back with confidence. Hesitating for only a moment, she took Theodore by the wrist and attempted to tug him out of his armchair. To her surprise and joy, he complied. Exchanging a triumphant look with Daphne, she urged him toward toward the rug.

"No, really? Really, Pansy, at this hour?" Blaise sat up in disbelief. "I thought you were kidding."

Pansy scoffed. "It's about time you start taking me seriously, Zabini." Of course, this was the least serious she'd been in days, but with the bad weather keeping the students indoors, Pansy was desperate for a bit of amusement.

It seemed Blaise was similarly in need of distraction, for he complied. Daphne searched the faces of both boys, now standing parallel a good five feet apart, for some sign of uncertainty. Everything about Blaise's face screamed confidence. Theodore Nott's face was impossible to read, but she couldn't find any worry in it. She hoped this meant he'd been waiting for an opportunity to kiss Blaise for years, but neither boy seemed particularly eager either.

"Right, well, go at it then," Pansy gestured towards Theodore and took a step back. A hush fell over the Common Room, broken only by Vincent Crabbe's chortling as he recalled a the tormenting of a second year earlier that day.

Blaise Zabini took one step, then another. Theodore Nott stood still. Blaise Zabini placed a hand softly, then firmly, on the other boy's hip. Theodore Nott didn't react. Blaise Zabini smirked, studying the face in front of him, then leaned in. Theodore Nott jerked away suddenly, looking startled.

Now even Crabbe was silent. Theodore Nott's walk towards the boy's dormitory was slow and deliberate, but it was observed with an immediacy that would have been more appropriate had he been rushing. After the door closed behind him, the room was left quite. Finally sound returned to it again with the controlled laughter of Blaise Zabini. "As if I would really," he lied.

**x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Blotted Out**

_Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended._

Theodore sat, knees bent, in a dark green leather armchair in a corner of the common room. He was just far away from everyone else to be able to focus on the words of the book. When he found himself abruptly distracted, he knew it was because someone had come closer.

Want, want, want. Pansy Parkinson wanted so badly to be _wanted_. Needed, sought-after, looked up to, paid attention, desired, _wanted_.

"Theodore?"

Theodore looked up into her brown-black eyes, lids coated in brown-black liner, lashes long and sticky with mascara.

"Yes?" he replied, putting a thumb on the edge of his book to mark the page.

"What kind of wood is your wand made of?"

The same pleading to be wanted seemed to radiate from both Pansy and Daphne, who had tagged along behind her. Theodore glanced from one to the other. Daphne's insecurity seemed to be more directed towards Pansy, while Pansy's was directed towards Theodore. It struck him as odd but unsurprising that Pansy didn't seem to hold any special interest in him outside of wanting his approval. He wasn't even sure she approved of him. Daphne clearly both approved and sought the approval of Pansy, though. He wondered if Pansy noticed-but of course she had. No one who wants to desperately to be wanted could miss that kind of dependence. Yes, she must savor it.

After taking all of this in, Theodore answered honestly, "Silver Lime. Why?"

This news seemed to thrill both girls as they exchanged excited glances at once. It suddenly struck him that it had everything to do with Blaise Zabini. And love.

"You and Blaise are soulmates," Daphne informed him frankly. Theodore feigned surprise.

"You're sure of this?" he asked, "Just based off my wand?" They weren't sure, well, Pansy wasn't. She doubted it very much. Daphne wanted to believe.

"Well, he's the most likely to be-out of everyone here, I mean," Daphne amended.

Pansy spoke with more confidence, explaining that their wands suggested as such. She also made mention of his dark hair. Theodore wanted to laugh, since all three of them had dark hair, but this didn't seem to fit into Pansy's scheme.

Both girls rolled their eyes and Theodore was hit with a sudden wave of notions about Draco Malfoy. Of anyone, Pansy desired his attention the most. But she knew he enjoyed her attention the same way she enjoyed everyone else's, that there was genuinely only mild attraction. If only she could just be better for him, thinner and more popular.

Theodore felt a little sick. Pansy's worldview was intoxicating and he wanted to return to his reading. "Alright then," he murmured, trying to dismiss them. It didn't work.

"You should kiss Blaise to be sure."

"You should."

Now Pansy was attracted to him. How absolutely curious. Alone he was simply another person who should adore her, but combined with Blaise he was somehow attractive to her. Theodore wished Pansy would back up so that he didn't have to be discomforted by her thoughts. Not everyone was this translucent.

Theodore felt a tug on his wrist and gave into it easily, standing up and setting down his book.

"No, really?" he heard Blaise's voice. "Really, Pansy, at this hour? I thought you were kidding."

"Its about time you start taking me seriously, Zabini." Theodore was herded along by the two girls until he stood on the rug by the fireplace. Blaize, who had been laying down, now stood several feet away from him.

"Right, well, go at it, then."

Blaise gradually closed the distance between them and his emotions and insecurities became harder to ignore. Always his mother. He blamed her, wondered if he should blame her, for his attraction to boys. To Theodore.

As Blaise grew closer Theodore felt his own heart begin to pound. He wasn't attracted to Blaise, but the attraction he felt emulated from the other boy like heat. It was a flood of thoughts, but it was not like those Pansy had had for Draco. They were fragmented. Almost visual. Theodore couldn't see anything but, as if in a daydream, his sight was somehow obscured by the thinking.

_Dark eyes, thin nose, dark hair, slender jaw. Slender, slender. Shoulders. The way he sits._

Theodore felt briefly disoriented by the strength, the pull of the feelings. When he realized what was about to happen, he jerked back on instinct.

Blaise's eyes fluttered fully open and they stared at each other for a fraction of a second.

Theodore was startled by how quickly the stream of feeling changed.

_Mother was right. _ She was right about everything, all along. And it was her fault, her fault he was this way. Of course Theodore hated him. He was disgusting. He was a monster. He was hideous. Theodore hated him. _Theodore was repulsed by him_.

Theodore wanted to shake his head. To pat Blaise on the shoulder. To explain. To comfort him. But he had already jerked back. The damage was done, and it didn't really have to do with him. All of this had been building up.

Blaise was broken and Theodore couldn't fix him. He didn't know how.

In slow, careful, controlled movements, Theodore fled for the dormitory. It had been a mistake to read down there, he saw that now.

**x**


End file.
